


Boogie's Boys

by TrilliumWoods



Category: The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: Arson, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrilliumWoods/pseuds/TrilliumWoods
Summary: ‘Boogie’s Boys’, the children were called, for Oogie Boogie was the one that they served, the one they obeyed, the only parent they had ever known. No one wanted them, he said. He’d saved their lives, he said, and they’d better be grateful - and they were. So they followed his orders, no matter how evil. Rated M for graphic violence and blood, murder, arson and child abuse.





	Boogie's Boys

_Boogie’s Boys’_ , the children were called, for Oogie Boogie was the one they obeyed, the one that they served, the only parent they had ever known.  When they were only a tiny little witch, devil and ghoul - far earlier than the earliest reaches of their long memories - no one had wanted them, he said.  The other townspeople would have left them to die in the forest, or thrown them down a well, or buried them alive in the graveyard, he said.  That he’d saved their lives and they’d better be grateful - and they were.  When he was nice, he was fun and spoiled them rotten with gifts of candy and dangerous toys: weapons, explosives, evil-looking bears and dolls.  He taught them gambling games and laughed with approval when they told him of the pranks that they pulled and the damage they caused.  Often he fed them, and when he did, it was always delicious.  He gave them their tree house, took care of them, guided them, and told them what clever little children they were.  He bought their devotion with carefully meted-out affection: just generous enough to keep them loyal, but stingy enough to keep them hungry for more.  They did their best to keep him happy and in the beginning, everything was perfect.  But it didn’t stay perfect.

It had started out relatively minor: an occasional slap when they failed to please him, harsh words about how little and worthless they were, how nobody else in Halloween Town cared about them or ever _would_ care about them except for him, and the children believed it.  After all, everyone else hated them for merely doing their jobs, but Oogie encouraged them in their work as trick-or-treaters.  Jack didn’t seem to hate them, but he certainly didn’t take care of them, either… and while Jack may be the Pumpkin King, Oogie Boogie was the king of their world and the king that they answered to above all.  They had to – their very lives depended on it, for over time the abuse escalated and soon they obeyed him out of fear as well as devotion.  The slaps got harder and progressed to punches.  He would kick them or strangle them or throw them against a wall.  He would hang them by their limbs from the ceiling or strap them to the wheel and spin them until they were sick or stretch them until they wept and pleaded for mercy, stopping just short of causing them irreparable bodily harm.  He would let his venomous bugs, spiders and scorpions sting and bite them, leaving raw and weeping sores in their tender skin.  He threw Lock to the ground and then stepped on his throat until his yellow eyes bulged and his white face turned blue, or yanked him by the tail so hard that the vertebrae broke and he’d cry out in pain.  He beat Barrel unconscious and for weeks afterwards his head throbbed with pain and he would vomit and faint without warning.  He twisted Shock’s arms so hard that they would release from their sockets with a sickening pop that could be heard even over her screams.  In time she learned how to force them back into place, but the pain was just as bad as when they had been dislocated.  That was the way it had to be, he said.  They deserved it, he said. This was the treatment that would make decent trick-or-treaters out of them yet, he said.

The children would have been satisfied with the more benign sort of mischief that trick-or-treating was really all about: run-of-the-mill vandalism, egging houses, smashing jack-o-lanterns and mailboxes, and stealing the candy from smaller children.  But the Boogie Man wanted more.  He always wanted more.  He wanted their childish pranks to expand into acts of genuine terror.  At first they didn’t understand what he wanted them to do, because the concepts of such wicked things were beyond the imaginations of children so young.  So he would tell them – he would feed them ideas for more mischief and crime, the more dangerous and damaging, the better.  Some of the pranks felt a bit too much and made the children a little uncomfortable, but what choice did they have?  As the Boogie Man constantly reminded them, they were only stupid, naive little children, so what did they know?  So on every Halloween they would take to the streets of the Human World to fulfill his orders.  They would commit arson, setting homes and cars ablaze and laughing as terrified residents fled… assuming they found their way out at all and didn’t burn to a crisp or choke on the black, toxic smoke.  They removed traffic signs and re-wired lights to cause accidents, and the more cars that piled up, the more people that were hurt, the more the Boogie Man would reward and praise them.  They lured hungry strays and pets that were carelessly allowed to roam free on Halloween night into traps, and brought them home to their master to sate his boundless hunger.  They set bear traps on porch steps and next to car doors, and slipped poisons and razor blades into candy that was left out for trick-or-treaters.  When they heard the squealing of tires and the sharp screech of metal as cars collided and folded like paper, or as a building was consumed by flames and they heard the frightened screams of the people trapped within… as human kids vomited or sliced open their mouths from the candy they’d tampered with, as a human would scream as a bear trap snapped shut on their leg, a strange, sick feeling would consume them: a thrill of excitement pierced by sharp stabs of horror and a roiling sort of nausea that came from doing a thing that they knew was too wrong, too dark and too much even for trick-or-treaters such as themselves, but that Oogie told them simply had to be done.  After a crime of that magnitude they would then seek out human children who were without the protection of a parents watchful eye, or vagrants in alleys who were too drunken or ill to defend themselves and the trio would beat them up, punishing those humans for the wrongs they themselves had committed.  It was the only way they could think of to somehow punish themselves and punish Oogie Boogie at the same time… the only way to vent those dark, nauseous feelings that would otherwise engulf them, and also one more way to ensure that their master would be pleased.

Lock was especially vicious, his sharp teeth gritted beneath his mask while he pounded his fists and feet into the bodies of his victims.  The more they cried out the more energized he felt, and the harder he hit the more that sickness and blinding rage would bleed out of him – at least for awhile before it came back again, more fierce then ever.  Shock would help him, twisting back the arms of their victims just like Oogie twisted hers, her face as grim as her mask as she watched his yellow eyes glinting and heard him panting with effort, relishing the violence he could unleash and wishing she could hit as hard as he could.  Every whimper, every scream, every moan that he forced from their victims made her heart colder and harder, and filled her with a dark satisfaction that _someone_ was getting what they deserved.  More often than not Barrel watched from the sidelines, his malevolent grin matching his mask and he laughed at the brutality of his cohorts and the pain of their victims, their suffering giving him strength and a feeling of power that he otherwise never felt.  Sometimes he would join in, laughing with each hit and Lock and Shock would congratulate him when he coaxed blood from their victim’s nose or loosened a tooth or two from their mouths which he would collect and keep as a souvenir, adding it to the jar that he kept in his room.

Tonight was a good night, and surely the Boogie Man would be pleased.  Under his orders they had set fire to a retirement home, and as the children had never heard of such a thing Oogie clarified: _“It’s a place the humans send their old folks to die.  So why don’t you help ‘em along, hmm?”_   So they made their way to Shady Acres, lobbed Molotov cocktails through the lobby windows and cackled with glee as it went up in flames.  Then the nausea hit as the humans emerged from the building crying and shouting… and some of them burning.  There weren’t very many who made it out, and most who escaped were being helped along in their wheelchairs and walkers by nurses and staff.  A series of explosions shook the building as oxygen tanks ignited and the trio ducked behind the neatly-maintained hedges bordering the closely-clipped lawn, adrenaline surging through their veins and sickness churning in their guts.  It was terrible and thrilling all at once, and as the sirens wailed out they crept further into the shadows and took count of the ambulances and the bodies that came out in shiny black bags.  They hit a new record.  Tonight was a good night, and surely the Boogie Man would be pleased.

Once the show had died down they had time for one last act of evil before slipping back through the portal to home.  They walked to the alley where they’d hidden their tools and found an elderly hobo staggering drunkenly right past their supplies, clutching a bottle in a brown paper sack.  The alleyway smelled like piss and despair, of garbage and rot and humanity’s failure.  The vagrant was mumbling, stumbling and sick, lost in a haze of schizophrenia and scotch and the children looked at one another and wordlessly understood: here was the human to absolve their sins tonight.  Their scapegoat, their vessel to absorb the punishment that they themselves deserved.  _“He’s old.”_ observed Barrel. _“Let’s help him along.”_ added Lock.  _“He’s going to die anyway.”_ finished Shock, repeating their master’s words and reminding them all that it had to be done.  Lock picked up the mace from their collection of weapons that they’d earlier stashed behind cans full of rubbish and rats, and his cohorts stayed clear as he advanced on their victim.  There was no need to be sneaky.  He pulled back and swung high, and the sickening crack of a shattering spine bounced off of the bricks.  The vagrant collapsed with a pathetic cry, crumpling like the paper bag he managed to still clutch in his hand.  The children laughed wildly as Shock and Barrel ran forward as well, for their crimes tonight were so heavy that they all three needed to purge.  With a grunt and a giggle, Barrel kicked their victim’s head with his wide callused foot while Lock threw the mace aside - he needed to feel his fists sinking into flesh.  Shock snatched the bag and the bottle within from it’s dirty, arthritic hand, then placed the heel of her boot in it’s place.  _“You’re only children…”_ it moaned in it’s last lucid moment, for then Barrel’s wide foot hit the side of it’s head even harder and their onslaught began.

Lock dropped to his knees on it’s chest and gripped the tattered collar of it’s jacket with both hands.  _“You’re gonna die, old man.”_ he informed it, his lips curling into a sneer beneath the grin of his mask.  Then he balled up his fists and attacked, feeling cartilage and bone beneath rough weathered skin cracking and splitting beneath his knuckles.  There were no teeth in it’s mouth for Barrel to collect, but that didn’t stop Lock from trying to knock them out anyway.  Barrel stomped on it’s knees and Shock waited patiently, bottle in hand as she watched the boys work.  She would let them begin, but this time the end would belong to her.  Lock’s tail whipped back in forth in time with his punches, and he only let up once their victim stopped crying and he wasn’t sure how much of the blood coating his hands belonged to himself instead of their prey.  It looked like a lump of purplish clay with red streaking down, mottled and swollen and broken beyond repair.  Lock got to his feet with his chest heaving and his heart beating quickly, his mask barely clinging to his face thanks to the fine sheen of sweat that he’d earned from his effort.  _“You didn’t do anything.”_ he said to his friend, but then saw from the glint in her wicked black eyes that he’d spoken too soon.  Both boys held their breaths in anticipation as Shock bent only slightly and raised up the bottle… then brought it down hard on what was left of it’s forehead.  The glass smashed against skull, loose shards tinkling and skittering across the cement as the bottle shattered and a single thin line of blood streaked across her mask, vivid red against grayish green.  _“Wicked!”_ cried Barrel in a spasm of glee, and when she slashed the jagged bottle across it’s face once again he feared he might vomit even as he laughed.  _“Do it!”_ hissed Lock, egging her on, his eager eyes yellow like sulphur and flame and hot fire in his blood and the pit of his gut.  Ice spread throughout Shock’s heart and hardened her veins, and she gritted her teeth and flared her long witches nostrils as the bottle slashed a third and final time - this time beneath it’s jaw.  She had read about arteries, organs and veins, but the strength of the pulsing spray still surprised her as it emptied their victim and pooled on the ground.  The children all laughed at the final, wet, gurgling noise as their scapegoat seized one last time and went still.

 _“He got what he deserved.”_ Shock said, convincing herself as well as her friends.  She threw the bottle against the brick wall, though there was no need to hide any evidence - her blood-flecked gloves hid any fingerprints that would never be found in the records of humans anyway.  _“He was going to die anyway.”_ added Lock as he wiped his hands on it’s jacket.  Better that human than him or his friends, and this final sin would make the Boogie Man proud.  _“We helped him along.”_ finished Barrel, struggling to carry their spear, mace and ax until his cohorts came to his aid.  While he hadn’t collected a physical trophy to take home this time, the memory of Shock’s vicious coup de grâce was trophy enough for him - as was the knowledge that surely they would be safe from the Boogie Man’s wrath tonight, and perhaps he would even reward them with a batch of snake and spider stew.  They picked up a cage holding a scrawny, matted, yowling stray cat, whose hunger had outweighed it’s caution and led it right into their trap.  At least it had gotten a final meal before becoming a meal itself.  They went back to the graveyard and down into a crypt, stepping through into their world and towards home once again.

 _“Well, well, little ones, you done ol’ Oogie proud.”_ said their master as they knelt at his feet.  The stray cat had disappeared into his great, sucking maw and the trio waited anxiously to hear if he would reward them.  They smelled the stew from the kitchen and hoped it was for them, for their tummies were growling as much as that cat’s.  Happily it was, and when they finished their meal Oogie patted his lap with one great fabric hand.  _“Get on up here, kiddos.”_ he said with a smile, and they climbed up the burlap and onto his knee, and he was so enormous there was plenty of room for all three of them.  They giggled and squirmed as he ruffled their hair, and he told them what smart children they were.  Such good little henchmen, so wicked, he said.  The best little trick-or-treaters in this land or any other, he said.  _“And what are you called?”_ he tested and they puffed out their chests.  _“Boogie’s Boys!”_ they chirped brightly, and the Boogie Man smiled.  _“That’s right.  Don’t you forget it, now.”_ and they all three shook their heads.  They would never forget it, for as long as they lived.


End file.
